


Resign Yourself to Me; Or, a Very Short Engagement

by lei_che_sogna



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2011-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 08:55:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lei_che_sogna/pseuds/lei_che_sogna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fanciful accounting of how Sherlock Holmes (The World's Foremost Consulting Detective) and John H. Watson (M.D., ex-RAMC, and best friend of the former) came to be affianced and, in fairly short order, married. Includes a number of quasi-comical sub-titles which This Author hopes will provide some small element of educational assistance to the reading public, as well as enhance said public's enjoyment of the proceedings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resign Yourself to Me; Or, a Very Short Engagement

_1\. Which Sees Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, On the Horns of a Dilemma  
_  
The woman smiled at John as she gave him his coffee, and Sherlock was annoyed. Women always looked at John like that, like he was the answer to whatever might be dissatisfying them at present in their meaningless little lives.

But then John smiled right back at the woman, and Sherlock found he had it in him to be horrified, for that smile meant that John had decided he was over Mary and ready to begin dating again. Sherlock’s life would once more be hell. John would suddenly disappear at all hours, after announcing some wholly uncalled-for idea to take this woman to that restaurant. To Sherlock’s disgust, John had become creative after the incident with Sarah. Not only did he no longer take Sherlock’s dating advice, John had routinely given Sherlock incorrect information about his whereabouts. On purpose! It beggared belief.

Mary had been the closest call yet, and one that Sherlock was not in a hurry to repeat. John and Mary had gotten serious in the five months their relationship had lasted; it had taken a particularly determined Sherlock, a string of corpses turning up in unexpected places, and the arrival of a handsome personal trainer before the two of them had finally broken it off. It wasn’t precisely that he minded the effort—it was John, after all—but Sherlock would rather not have to go through it again. Personal relationships were messy business, and Sherlock preferred John not waste his time on other people. But how, exactly?

There was no pressing case to solve, which was why he’d gone down to the café with John in the first place. Sherlock was free to devote his full attention to this problem.

  
 _2\. In Which Sherlock Develops a Plan  
_  
Four nicotine patches later, Sherlock snapped out of his brainstorm with a plan and a slight headache. The headache went away with two paracetamol and a glass of water. The plan went like this: Marry John. It was, if he did say so himself, genius in its simplicity. A civil union would prevent others from making unwanted advances, and inform the world at large that John was Sherlock’s exclusive territory.

Sherlock had seen so much infidelity, and so many divorces, that he could not help but have a realistic view of the nature of marriage. However, he knew John Watson’s defining characteristic (aside from courage, and a strong sense of the moral, and a truly remarkable ability to anger chip-and-PIN machines) was loyalty. Once he was married to John, Sherlock knew he would have John. For life.  
Now all that remained was the implementation of his genius plan.

  
 _3\. In Which Sherlock Sets His Plan into Motion and a Cup of Coffee Is Forgotten  
_  
“We could, actually,” Sherlock said suddenly, for all the world as though they were in the middle of a conversation instead of apropos of nothing.

John, accustomed to this behaviour, found it easier to question Sherlock immediately rather than let the consulting detective carry on assuming everyone else (or at least John) could read minds as easily as he seemed to find it most of the time.

“Could what, Sherlock?” John asked, taking a sip from his coffee cup. They’d been out of milk again, and it had been cold enough in the flat that take-away coffee from Speedy’s had seemed the best idea.

“Get married. Do keep up,” he said impatiently.

John’s coffee, still very hot, went up his nose in a most unpleasant fashion. Sputtering, he set the mug down on the floor and succumbed to a coughing fit.

Sherlock watched all this from the sanctuary of his favourite chair, one ankle crossed over the other as he closed his netbook.

“I should hope I’m not as bad as all that,” he remarked when it looked like John was winding down.

“Worse,” John said briefly in between bouts of wheezing. He inhaled deeply, trying to slow his heart rate to something approaching normal.

Sherlock attempted to arrange his facial features into a wounded expression. It didn’t suit.

“Stop that,” John said sharply.

Sherlock did. “It’s not what you think, John, I don’t really mean _married_.”

John exhaled a sigh of relief. “Good, then what exactly was that—“

“I meant a civil partnership,” Sherlock said with precision.

This was too much.

“That’s exactly what I thought you meant!” John exploded.

“Then I’m afraid I don’t see what the problem is,” Sherlock said, leaning back and steepling his fingers as he fixed his eyes on John’s agitated face.

“Problem? Of course there’s a problem! No matter what every person we meet seems to think, we’re not a couple. We’re not! _We don’t even have sex_!” John realised he might have shouted that last bit a trifle too loudly, but these were trying circumstances.

“Is that all?” Sherlock asked, bemused except for a certain light in his eyes that John knew always boded ill for someone. John felt a prickle of sensation travel down his spine, which he sternly told himself was nervousness and nothing else.

“You should’ve said something earlier,” Sherlock said, and lunged for John.

  
 _4\. During the Course of Which There Is a Visitor and Announcements Are Made  
_  
John had no idea what time it was but it was definitely much later. He was lying spread-eagled on the floor, half on and half off the sitting room rug. He was also mostly naked except for his trousers and pants, which were still clinging determinedly to his left ankle. What Sherlock lacked in finesse he’d more than made up for in enthusiasm. John turned his head at the sound of a heavy tread upon the stair, and saw with dawning horror that the door was wide open and probably had been the entire time they’d...

“Bad time?” Lestrade asked as he gained the landing, possibly just to have something to say. If he was asked John would have been unable to describe the DI’s facial expression, except to say that it was more than a little gobsmacked.

“Well, you know how it is,” John began, and then realised that he sincerely hoped Lestrade didn’t. Luckily Lestrade’s expression painted a very clear picture of exactly how little he wanted to know. The DI hovered in the doorway, obviously wishing to be anywhere else on Earth or in the vast vacuum of space than at 221B Baker Street.

“Did you want to get dressed any time soon?” Lestrade asked solicitously, staring fixedly at the ceiling.

“Oh, right,” John said, sitting up and wishing he hadn’t. Very athletic sex on the floor wasn’t good for anybody of his age, regardless of how good one’s physical condition might be. John ignored the voice in his head that suggested his physical condition could be improved through more athletic sex on the floor with Sherlock. He tilted his head, cracking his neck, then stood and attempted to put everything back on his body. This was curtailed by the lack of his jumper anywhere in the immediate vicinity. He cast about on the carpet, as if it might materialise unexpectedly at any moment.

“Uhm,” Lestrade coughed, pointing towards the fireplace. John’s jumper was there, stuck to the mantelpiece with a large dagger. John settled for taking the blanket from the sofa, wrapping it round his torso, and sitting down.

“Well,” Lestrade said, clearly ready to get things back on track, “Have you seen Sherlock lately?” He was trying forcefully to keep a straight face.

John pondered all the possible ways he could answer this, and settled for, “No, not lately.”

“Ah,” Lestrade said, shuffling his feet and running a hand through his hair. “Will you tell him to come round to the Yard whenever he gets a spare moment? There’s been this break-in, and...” He trailed off, hearing someone else coming up the stairs.

It was Sherlock, climbing two treads at a time with more than his usual enthusiasm. He burst past Lestrade into the room, spinning round like a demented top.

“Congratulate us, Inspector! We are to be married!”

John couldn’t tell what his own face was doing, but he suspected that Lestrade’s face was doing quite a good approximation.

“Don’t worry, you’re not invited,” Sherlock said, waving a hand dismissively.

“What, me or him?” John asked, gesturing to himself and then Lestrade.

“Mother will be so displeased I couldn’t do any better than an idiot for a partner,” Sherlock mused.

“Hey!” John exclaimed, then realised he was getting angry for entirely the wrong reason. “I mean, hey, who said we were getting married?”

“John, you did! Don’t you remember?” Sherlock asked, rolling his eyes in a truly unnatural fashion. “It was so very romantic.”

At this Lestrade looked like he’d had more than enough and beat a hasty retreat down the stairs to safety.

A faint “Congratulations!” could be heard, just before the front door slammed shut.

“Well, that’s got rid of him,” Sherlock said, removing his gloves and tossing them on the table. “Honestly, couldn’t you have just not let him in?”

John scrambled to his feet, pulling the blanket tighter round his body. “It wasn’t as if I had a choice! The door was open!”

“You could’ve closed it.”

“No, I couldn’t! Because you...” And John realised the only argument he had was, _You’re too good at sex. How did that happen? You made me come so hard I couldn’t move_ , and gave it up as a bad job. “Why do you think we should get married?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Do you need more convincing?” Sherlock asked, looking more than a little predatory at the thought. He cast his eyes over John’s form in a gaze that was, to put it politely, appreciative in the extreme. Put less politely, it was a look that said, _I can’t stop thinking about what we did and I’m coming back for more as soon as possible_.

“No! No. Absolutely not,” John said, waving an arm about in a way that he hoped indicated an emphatic negative. He ignored the voice in his head, which was urging a completely different course of action, and adjusted the blanket, which had slipped slightly down one shoulder. The complete ridiculousness of insisting upon wearing a blanket in front of someone who’d just seen him naked did not escape John. “I just think we should discuss why you think a civil partnership is something we should get. Together.”

“Just think of all the benefits!” Sherlock said, no doubt ready to go down a mental list of reasons why it was imperative they marry as soon as possible. John didn’t want to hear it.

“I don’t care! Still not a couple!”

“Now, John, how can you say that after all we’ve shared?” John was almost certain Sherlock was laughing at him, although the man had a straight face.

“Look, just because we had sex once does not make us a couple!” John cried, exasperated.

“If you wanted more, all you had to do was say so,” said Sherlock, making his way toward John. His voice had dropped an octave, and John shivered involuntarily.

The blanket dropped to the ground at their feet.

  
 _5\. In Which John Forms a Plan of His Own  
_  
The next time John’s brain was working he was on the sofa. The leather in which it was upholstered stuck uncomfortably to his legs, pulling his sweat-glazed skin as he stirred. He turned his head to see that the coffee table usually in front of the sofa was on its side, magazines scattered around it on the floor. It was a very sturdy table, and enjoyable for a short period of time, but John had found it necessary to move them to the sofa for added leverage. In the process of relocating to the sofa, Sherlock had barked his shin painfully on the corner of the table. The consulting detective had taken it personally, shoving the table out of the way so as to have more room to manoeuvre.

Sherlock was currently nowhere to be seen, but his scarf was still tied securely in place round John’s wrists. John brought his hands up to his mouth, unknotting the scarf with his teeth, and hissed as his numb fingers tingled.

“Are you just going to lie there all day?” Sherlock asked, coming in from the kitchen. He was holding a steaming mug and John blinked, wondering if he had somehow slipped into an alternate universe. Had Sherlock actually made him tea?

“Come have a look,” Sherlock said, gesturing to the mug. “I’m dissolving this finger in acid so as to determine the proper length of time it would take to remove the fingerprints from a corpse.”

John sighed. Oddly enough, he did feel a little better. He wouldn’t know what to do with a selfless Sherlock, anyway. It was enough of a reversal already, as John hadn’t thought of Sherlock sexually before today, and now...

 _Now I’m half in love with him_ , John thought. No, that wasn’t right. Where had that come from?

Now he had to get Sherlock to drop the whole civil partnership idea. John stretched, then straightened up and began searching for his pants.

“Here you are,” Sherlock said, tossing them on John’s head. “The sooner you get dressed, the sooner we can get married.”

John gaped. “You don’t mean that.”

“No; I’ve just been to the register office to book us an appointment, and the only opening they had was next Wednesday at half eleven.”  
John exhaled. Good. Plenty of time to change Sherlock’s mind, then, and he would start as soon as possible. He ignored the part of his mind that disagreed strongly with this idea.

  
 _6\. In Which John’s Plan Proves Difficult to Implement  
_  
Luckily for Sherlock, John was extremely susceptible to Sherlock’s methods of persuasion. Even Sherlock was slightly surprised at how quickly John had acquiesced. He gave in so easily, like it was something he’d always wanted, but would never have let himself have.

Shocked at this observation, Sherlock studied John’s profile as they sat together front of the television. That was something he’d not even considered before. Something odd was happening to his face, and Sherlock reached up with one hand to surreptitiously feel his mouth. He was grinning widely. Odd.

John’s eyes were trained on the telly, and he gave no sign of having noticed what Sherlock was doing. He appeared to be mustering up his courage for another attempt to dissuade Sherlock. Inhaling, John spoke. “We’re not a couple, just because we had sex...twice...” John trailed off, staring at Sherlock’s mouth.

Sherlock grinned, outwardly and inwardly. This was criminally easy. He licked his lips, dragging his tongue agonisingly slowly across his lower lip. It was much too obvious, but John was clearly past caring. Sherlock leaned in, placing a hand on John’s thigh.

John was lost.

  
 _7\. In Which John Loses His Temper and Makes Up His Mind  
_  
Two days later, John sat in Lestrade’s office. Sherlock had disdained use of a chair, preferring instead to pace back and forth. John did not think about how he’d lost count of the number of times Sherlock and he had had sex. He tried again to concentrate on what Lestrade was saying. It was to do with the recent break-in at the American Embassy, something about the CCTV footage... John found he was staring at Sherlock’s arse and flushed, embarrassed.

“John, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the attention, but couldn’t you look out the window instead?” Sherlock asked. “You’re distracting me.”

John cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said.

Donovan burst into the office. “I knew it! Where’s my invitation?”

“Donovan, what—“ Lestrade began.

“Wedding invitation, and you didn’t receive one because you aren’t invited,” Sherlock said, glaring daggers at Donovan.

“We have wedding invitations?” John pondered aloud.

Sherlock pulled an envelope from his coat pocket and tossed it at John. It was done up in white tulle, and had both their names in cursive on the front. John turned it over in his hands. As if from very far away, he heard Sherlock bickering with Donovan.

“…And furthermore, you’ll bring Anderson, and…”

“And because there is _not_ going to be a wedding!” John shouted.

Silence fell.

Sherlock sighed, turning away in dejection. “I suppose you’d be happier with someone else,” he said softly, gazing out the window. John stared at Sherlock’s familiar back, and had no idea what he was doing. What did he want, anyway?

He wanted Sherlock. The rest would have to wait until later.

Sherlock walked toward the door, brushing past John in the process. John pounced. Before he’d had time to think about what he was doing, he’d pulled Sherlock’s face down to his and was kissing the taller man soundly.

“My eyes!” Donovan cried, throwing her hands in front of her face. She spoilt it by staring avidly at them between her fingers.

“Please, _please_ , will you get a room?” Lestrade said. “And no, my office does _not_ count as a room,” he continued, as John pushed Sherlock into the nearest chair. John changed course, pulling Sherlock along by the front of his coat.

“Oi! Any chance of solving this before you go?” Lestrade asked.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at John.

“It was an inside job,” John said hurriedly, anxious to get home. This time he was going to make certain they used the bed. They hadn’t managed it yet, but John was feeling confident about this time.

“Are you telepathic now?” Donovan asked.

“No, just more intelligent than you,” Sherlock shot back. To Lestrade, he said, “The security guards. All eight of them were in it together. Talk to the one who was meant to be patrolling that hallway alone, and the rest will crack. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed elsewhere.”

In the elevator down, Sherlock paused in what he was doing. “How did you know it was the security guards, by the way?”

“Broken glass on the wrong side of the window,” John said, annoyed at the interruption. “Easy.”

“Oh,” Sherlock said. It sounded like he might have been a little impressed. “Simple, but still cogent enough to determine the culprit’s identity. Or identities, in this case. Now, if you had noticed the scatter pattern of the glass on the ground—“

John rolled his eyes and pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

  
 _8\. In Which an Accord Is Reached  
_  
“I suppose you’re going to keep on doing this until I say yes,” John said much later. He stared at the ceiling, sighing in contentment. In the grand scheme of things, something as small as a bed didn’t make a large amount of difference but it was nice for the afterglow. More comfortable.

“If it’s such a trial, I can always stop,” Sherlock said lazily, making no move to get up. John placed a hand squarely on the other man’s chest, just in case. In Lestrade’s office, John had realised he wanted to stay with Sherlock as long as possible. And, he realised, he always had. He just hadn’t paid attention.

“You’ve convinced me,” John said.

Sherlock rolled over, scrutinising John’s face with intent blue eyes. “I’m not going to stop shagging you because you’ve said yes,” he stated.

“God, I hope you don’t,” John said sincerely. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind.

Sherlock, surprised, flung himself on his stomach to pummel the pillow viciously, and then sank back onto it. “We’re getting married on Wednesday,” he stated.

“Okay,” said John.

Sherlock made a noise like a disgruntled cat. “You can’t back out now.” Sprawling a leg over John’s midsection for balance, he leaned over to rummage under the bed. With a satisfied noise, he pulled out a small cube containing a miniscule representation of the solar system. Shifting it idly from hand to hand, Sherlock made it disappear and re-appear again from John’s nose. John exhaled noisily in annoyance that was only half-pretend.

“Not going to,” John said.

“You’re not—“

“Do you actually want me to change my mind again? Cos it’s not going to happen.”

There was a brief silence.

“Okay,” Sherlock said. He smiled at John, an unequivocally happy smile that lit up his face, and all John could do was smile back with all his heart.

  
 _9\. In Which There Are Congratulations of a Sort  
_  
John’s mobile rang. Convinced it had to be some sort of emergency (in the middle of the night, how could it be anything else?), John fumbled blearily for his phone.

“Please hold for Mycroft Holmes,” the brunette whose name was not Anthea said. There was a click, and Mycroft began to speak immediately.

“I gather felicitations are in order,” he said. “I suppose I should be thankful that you’ve finally decided to make an honest man of my brother, but really I’m just happy there will be someone else to mediate the Christmas dinners. Olivia insists on taking double holiday pay for it, and then she just uses her BlackBerry the entire time. There is nothing as tiresome as being maliciously ignored by one’s PA.”

“Olivia?” John asked. “Is that—“

“Of course it’s not her real name. Your security clearance isn’t high enough for that. See you on Wednesday.”

There was another click, and not-Olivia-either was back. “Welcome to the family,” she said, sounding as always on the verge of laughter. “If you hurt him, we’ll break both your legs.”

“Really?” John asked.

“Oh, of course not, John,” not-Olivia-either assured him gaily. “That’s just the traditional thing to say. If you hurt him, you’ll wish we had broken your legs. Better?”

“Why not,” John said, at a loss.

There was a third and final click as not-Olivia-either ended the call. John stared at his mobile. He supposed that passed for a blessing in the Holmes family.

  
 _10\. In Which There Are Obstacles but Love Prevails  
_  
Moriarty sent them wedding congratulations at the register office in the form of an all-white Rubik’s Cube with a bomb attached. Sherlock concentrated intently and solved it well within the allotted time. A green anorak with a fake-fur hood and thankfully no Semtex inside had been left for John. In fairly short order Sherlock had emptied a clip into the coat and then set it on fire, terrifying grin stretched across his face. At this point in the proceedings, Lestrade was kind enough to ignore any discharging of illegal firearms, pretending instead to be very interested in the pattern of the wallpaper.

The registrar himself turned out to be an old enemy of Sherlock’s, but John had him flat on the ground with a knee in his back before the other man had finished drawing his knife. John wasn’t putting up with this on his wedding day, dammit.

Once the registrar had been dragged away, it was revealed that by some strange coincidence Mycroft was in fact officially licenced to perform marriages. He stepped into the officiant’s role admirably and with only the tiniest bit of sneering, and the rest of the ceremony went like clockwork. Not-Olivia-either beamed like the sun, Lestrade passed over the rings when requested to do so, Donovan (who had come anyway, but not with Anderson after all) threw confetti all over everyone, and Mrs. Hudson cried happily throughout.

  
 _11\. In Which Conjugal Bliss Is Achieved  
_  
That evening, Sherlock tilted his head against John’s. They were sharing a pillow, a novel concept for Sherlock but not one he thought he’d enforce. He enjoyed his own pillow far too much to share. Tracing his fingers over John’s left hand, Sherlock reflected upon the success of his plan with no small measure of pride.

“Can you stop gloating now, or am I going to have to stick my hand in everyone’s face for the rest of my life?” John asked sleepily.

“I have no idea to what you are referring,” Sherlock said, closing his left hand around John’s so their rings clacked together softly. “Look, we match.”

John sighed. “If you only married me because you were jealous, or wanted to show off…”

“That was only at first,” Sherlock said. “Then I deduced that you were hopelessly in love with me, and I thought it prudent to put you out of your misery.”

John hit him in the head with the pillow.

 _AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER._

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: An untold number of thanks to [](http://tafizgurl.livejournal.com/profile) **[tafizgurl](http://tafizgurl.livejournal.com/) ** for the beta. The title is from 'I'll Get You,' by The Beatles, and [A Very Long Engagement](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0344510/). Originally written for the Sherlock Christmas Card Exchange. A companion playlist to this story can be found [here](http://lei-che-sogna.livejournal.com/16945.html).


End file.
